


The Same Side

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: M/M, monchevy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 22:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: Philippe and the Chevalier spend some time together.





	The Same Side

Blood dripped down Philippe’s forefinger and he moved his hand away from the parchment of which he had been scribbling on. “Ouch,” he said.

The Chevalier who was reading a book upon the sofa, sat to attention at the Monsieur’s yelp. “What is it, my love?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just a small cut from the paper.”

The Chevalier laughed and then made his way to Philippe’s side, peering over him. He looked at the wound and let out a cooing noise. “Your poor finger.”

“It is hardly as bad as a wound from a sword,” Philippe retorted with a sharp tongue.

The Chevalier held up Philippe’s hand to the light and then smiled. “I think a kiss is needed for it to heal.” He placed his lips gently on the wound and then licked away the blood before wiping the small trace of blood from his own lips. 

Philippe pulled his hand away. “Would you mind asking before you feast upon me like a cursed animal?”

“Like you don’t enjoy it! You’ve never minded before.”

Trying not to smirk and let the Chevalier’s wicked grin beat him into submission, he grabbed a cloth from the table and mopped up the remaining small drops of blood from his finger and then from the desk. 

There was a sudden wicked look in the Chevalier’s eyes and Philippe knew the man was in one of his teasing moods. He had many moods but the teasing one was a favourite.

“Shall I report the injury to your brother?” the Chevalier said, raising his mouth at the sides as he waited for a response. Teasing again. 

“No, you shall not.”

“If it succumbs to infection you may have to have your whole hand removed.”

Philippe ignored his ill-attempt at humour and marched over to the sofa. The Chevalier followed him immediately, jumping next to him on the seat, his face alive with a hungry expression. They sat upright at first, close to one another but almost regimented in their positions. Dressed casually, nearly ready for bed in undershirts and loose-fitting trousers, the Chevalier reclined against Philippe, stretching his legs over Philippe’s body.

Philippe stroked the Chevalier’s thigh tenderly and then slapped it harshly, forcing him to jump.

“Am I your horse now?” the Chevalier said.

Philippe laughed. “Are you sure you want me to answer that?”

“I do not.” 

The Chevalier’s eyes twinkled and for a moment Philippe stared at him, admiring the way the fire cast a beautiful light across one side of his face. His left cheek was in darkness and his right in the warmth, wonderfully showcasing two sides of the Chevalier’s character. Regarding his lover’s cheeks with fondness, his eyes then moved to look at the man’s hair. It was golden like the sun and the corkscrew curls fell exquisitely against his shoulders. His hair had loosened in the evening’s activities and where it had been tight and bouncy, it was now free and wild, the way Philippe admired. He took a stand of it in his hand and felt it between his fingers.

The Chevalier closed his eyes, enjoying the moment of affection from Philippe.

“Would you like to lay across me, my love?” the Chevalier asked.

Philippe smiled, and nodding he obliged the Chevalier, sliding closer to him and resting his weary head upon the Chevalier’s lap. He sighed deeply. “Today was such a bore. You know what I’d really like?”

“What?”

“To have fun. Talk of nothing but madness.”

“I think I can do that rather easily. Maybe some gossip from the salon. Did you hear about Mademoiselle…?”

Philippe cut him off before he had the chance to continue. “Let’s not talk of those idiots. They talk such piffle. They bore me!”

The Chevalier seemed offended. “I’m sorry my tales from the salon hold no interest for the king’s brother.”

“Before you act like a child, I was going to say that I prefer your conversation. I’d rather talk of you and I rather than them.”

“You and I? What more of you could there be left to explore, Mignonette?”

Philippe smirked, looking up at him, allowing himself to be swept away in the intense excitement that the Chevalier made him feel. “Oh, I’m sure there is much more we could explore.”

“Then I suspect we have some interesting activities planned for later.”

“You’re so vulgar!” Philippe said in fake repulsion. 

The Chevalier looked down at him and tickled him under the ribs. “You shall be tortured for such a remark.” He let his fingers loose over Philippe’s torso.

Philippe, trying not to laugh, yelped. “So, you’re Monsieur Marchal now are you?”

The Chevalier stopped his action and grimaced. “Well whatever turns you on.”

Philippe tried to contain a burst of giggles and then hushed him for putting strange ideas in his head. “I meant you as the torturer.”

“I might have known you had a kink for some bondage- a prisoner of war scenario. But Fabien Marchal? I’ve already been captured by him and I may tell you it was not nearly as exciting as I once imagined.”

Thinking for a moment, sudden peculiar sexual images filling his mind, Phillippe didn’t know whether he was aroused or repulsed. “Stop it or next we’ll be thinking of dear old Bontemps.”

“Well the old fellow practically walks in on us on any given occasion so he might as well join in.”

Philippe tried not to laugh. “No, no, not dear Bontemps, he’s a respectable gentleman.”

“Pah! I’ve seen the old thing in not quite so respectable places.” The Chevalier smiled knowingly. He thought for a moment and then slapped his hands together. “What about Colbert?”

Philippe’s eyebrow rose. “Now that is highly irregular!” he mimicked. 

“I suppose we could always picture your new wife of course,” the Chevalier said with a certain disdain.

There was a sudden awkward silence and the Chevalier instantly regretted his choice of words- saying them out loud at least. Whatever he thought of the woman, he hadn’t meant to use it to harm his love.

“Don’t be like that,” Philippe snapped, “she does not deserve it and cannot help it.”

“Never mind it then,” said the Chevalier, tickling Philippe once more to coax him from his sudden melancholy. “I’m sorry. Why don’t we talk of something else?”

Philippe pulled himself up and sat upright next to the Chevalier. “I shall have to go to her at some stage you know?”

The Chevalier’s smile turned into a frown, not keen to be reminded that he’d lose him again. “I know.”

“Don’t fret, it’s you I’d rather…”

There was a look of anticipation on the Chevalier’s face. “Rather…?”

Philippe suddenly without warning pushed the Chevalier onto the floor, rolling them both off the side of the sofa so their bodies were twisted awkwardly on the ground. 

“Rather…wrestle with you,” Philippe said.

The red-faced shocked Chevalier gasped for breath as Philippe wrapped his arms tightly around him, squeezing- what felt like to the Chevalier- the life right out of him.

“Is that all you’ve got?” the Chevalier let out with an almost defeated whisper but somehow, he managed to gather strength and push his lover away, rolling on top of him and pinning him beneath his legs. “What was the purpose of such foul play?”

“I enjoy it.”

The Chevalier looked down at him and grinned. Philippe’s hair was splayed out across the floor, matted and full of dirt. He was breathing heavily. 

“I dare say you haven’t noticed that pain in your finger for quite some time,” the Chevalier said.

Philippe hit out at the Chevalier’s arms several times, trying to wriggle himself free. “No, I’ve only noticed a pain in the arse and he won’t get off of me!”

“This means war!” the Chevalier said as he tried to restrain Philippe’s thrashing arms. 

They were both laughing as they tried to overpower each other but Philippe was gaining control and as he raised upwards, his head made contact with the Chevalier’s and there was a thud as they collided. Falling back beside each other, clutching their foreheads, they both continued to laugh. 

“We’re going to have matching bumps,” the Chevalier said.

Philippe reached out and grabbed the Chevalier’s hand, kissing it quickly. “We shall look after each other now we are both wounded in battle.”

“We shall always be on the same side.”

Their eyes caught one another’s and they lay silent for several moments, staring. Philippe lifted himself but he heard a whimper from the Chevalier.

“What is it?”

“I cannot move. Come here to help me.”

Philippe leaned down to see what the matter was but then it was a blur as a hurricane of blonde curls surrounded him, knocking him to the floor. 

“What was that for?” Philippe asked from the ground.

“You underestimate me, Mignonette.” He smiled as he got up and brushed himself down. He reached his hand out for Philippe to take. “Come. We have more vigorous activities to be attending to.”

Philippe laughed and raised himself to his feet. He did not need to be asked twice.


End file.
